


Hot Days and Warm Nights

by squidmemesinc



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Kenma makes a brief appearance, M/M, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer means heat, and heat means ice cream and staying indoors wearing as little as possible with the fans blowing full force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Days and Warm Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwaizumemes (skytramp)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skytramp/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WONDERFUL WIFE I'm sorry I waffled back and forth so much and was very slow in getting this out.... I am an hour late for you birthday but maybe if we pretend I am.... Hawaiian...or something.
> 
> I hope you like BokuKuro? But you like everything. I wanted to write them.

Summer means heat, and heat means ice cream and staying indoors wearing as little as possible with the fans blowing full force. Tetsurou lies on the floor of his room in his swimsuit, not because he’s fortunate enough to be going swimming, but because it’s the only thing he has that has been untarnished by days of sweating into his clothes, and also because the material is light and cool. His guitar sticks to his stomach and his sweaty fingers make the strings squeak as he lazily cycles through a few bars of a rock song that would normally be played a lot faster than this, could he be fucked to play it at an appropriate speed. Bokuto is on his bed, which has been stripped of everything except the fitted sheet, and he’s shiny with his body’s futile efforts to cool his skin.

“It’s soooo hot,” Bokuto complains. “Kenma, aren’t you _melting?_ ”

Kenma is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Tetsurou assumes the sweatpants are living up to their name.

Kenma is focused very hard on his PSP, probably in a halfway vain attempt to distract himself from the heat. Suddenly the music clicks off and the only sounds in the room are Tetsurou’s halfhearted plucking and the fan rocketing away on the desk near the window. Kenma stands. “I’m going home.”

Tetsurou frowns and detaches his guitar from his stomach before sitting up. It kind of burns, as if he’s just ripped a giant band-aid off it, and he rubs at it with his plucking hand. “What, why?”

“We’re not doing anything, and it’s cooler at my house.”

Bokuto sits up too, and looks between him and Tetsurou.

Tetsurou flounders, catching the glance Kenma throws in Bokuto’s direction, and the look he returns to Tetsurou. “We have more ice cream in the freezer,” he tries. _Kenma, don’t you dare pull this shit with me_ , is what he’s saying between the lines. Kenma knows, and he obviously doesn’t care.

“I’ll see you guys later.” He gives a half-wave, which is actually a full Kenma wave.

Tetsurou scrambles up, gently placing his guitar on the floor, and follows Kenma on the pretense of walking him out. “Don’t move, Bokuto, you look like you’ll catch on fire,” he laughs, impressed with how easily he can act cool even when he’s panicking. Either that, or his laugh comes out more nervous than casual.

Bokuto salutes and flops back down. “See ya, Kenma.”

“Kenma, I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not,” Tetsurou whispers to him once they’re safely out of earshot of Bokuto.

“It _is_ cooler at my house,” Kenma insists, sitting down on the step to put on his shoes. “But I’m not going to be your buffer all summer if all you want to do is hang out with him. Suck it up and talk to him.”

“Right, because that worked out so well last time,” Tetsurou mutters. Kenma glares acidly at him and he winces. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. It’s not your fault.”

“I know that.”

Tetsurou clasps his hands together. “Please don’t go. I’m not ready.”

Kenma stands up. “I’m leaving.”

_You really fucked up, Tetsurou. Nice job._ “Okay. Sorry, though, for real. I’m a dick.”

The younger boy barely glances at him before opening the door. “Good luck, Kuro.” He closes the door and Tetsurou leans his forehead against the glass on the door watching him pull out his PSP as he walks. At least it cools him off maybe one one-hundredth of a degree. It’s so hot.

Sighing, he goes back to the kitchen and investigates his freezer. There aren’t any more ice cream bars, but there are popsicles. He breaks two off and carries them back to his room. Bokuto’s still on his bed, now using his tank top as a tiny pillow as his toned chest and abs are exposed to Tetsurou’s subtle ogling. Super.

“Sorry, I was melting.”

“Don’t worry, man, I’m doing the same thing anyway. Popsicle?”

“Dude, _yes_ ,” Bokuto flops forward onto his stomach, now revealing his sculpted back and shoulder muscles, and reaches up for the popsicle. Super! So great! This is perfect. Tetsurou swallows sits down on the floor. This is when Tetsurou begins to realize that everything that can go wrong today probably will. Popsicles. How many times has media used this as cheesy symbolism for a blow job, dramatically focusing on the Object of Unknown Affection’s mouth as it bobs up and down over a dripping, phallic column of flavored water?

It’s not even that Bokuto sucking on a popsicle is particularly sexy, because it’s kind of not. He’s making a mess of his face and he’s wearing a goofy expression, exaggerating how good it either tastes or feels, temperature-wise. Not exactly the picture Tetsurou would associate with giving some exceptionally good or sexy oral, but it’s just the goddamn principle of it! The audacity of his subconscious for not jumping forward and stopping him before he could make this mistake! Because as un-alluring as Bokuto’s popsicle-eating is, it brings the thought to mind—Bokuto blowing him. Bokuto between his legs, with his thick shoulders looped over his thighs and broad hands pressing up against his back. Normally when it’s this hot, he doesn’t even bother thinking about jacking off, but—

Okay, well even that’s not completely true. Even when it’s 36 degrees—at night—he’s been so frustrated by seeing Bokuto every day that he kind of…needs an outlet. The outlet has five fingers and is attached to his right wrist.

Basically…why? Why did he have to realize not once, but _twice_ , that he had a crush on his best friend? Why, after the thing with Kenma crashed and burned, did his affections continue to fuck him over in this way? Kenma made sense, after all, since they’d known each other for so long, helped each other through so much, and just plain grew up doing everything together. Bokuto…well, as much as Tetsurou doesn’t want to admit it, since a part of him begs to be deeply seating in denial, he also makes sense, but in different ways. Their personalities mesh together—their passion, their silliness, their outrageousness. It’s so easy to have fun with Bokuto, and despite his current predicament, Tetsurou does not actually enjoy suffering. But even amidst his this secret emotional turmoil, part of him is also enjoying himself because he’s around Bokuto. But he doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Not because Kenma treats him weird, but because he feels like it’s less strenuous on his end of the relationship if the other person doesn’t know. Besides, he’s had other crushes before and they’ve all gone away, eventually. The odds are that this will also pass.

“I have an idea,” Bokuto proclaims proudly, holding the sticky popsicle wrapper loosely in his hands. He’s folded the stick into it and is twisting it in his hands, making it crinkle.

Tetsurou’s still only halfway through his. He bites a piece off and rolls it over his tongue so he can talk. “What’s your idea, super-genius?”

“You have a hose, right? We could go outside and stick our heads under it, water the grass, and lie on it. That’s gotta be cooler than this.”

_Wet t-shirt contest_ , Tetsurou thinks grimly. _Without the t-shirts. Even worse. Just bare, dripping muscles. And Bokuto with his hair down. I’m pretty sure I had a dream about that once._ “That’s a fucking fantastic idea, man. Let’s go.” Tetsurou probably hates himself.

 

After the initial pain of the Horrible and Shameful Gay Fantasy Wrestling Fight that inevitably ensues after Bokuto sprays him with the hose, which ends with Tetsurou shouting mercy in order to escape the tumultuous embarrassment that would follow if his quarter of a hard-on turned into something more, they are safely planted half a meter apart in the sopping grass, feeling somewhat cooler. The water had been warm at first, and of course Tetsurou had been warmer, but eventually when it was pulled up from deeper underground, it was cool and refreshing. Still not cool enough to constitute a cold shower, unfortunately, with the sun beating down on them.

Tetsurou is thankful that he’s facing the bright sky now and has an excuse to keep his eyes closed and his arm slung over them, not looking at his crush. The water dries on him slowly, though his swimsuit stays wet. Belatedly, he thanks his previous self for wearing such a convenient piece of clothing today, though he’s sure Bokuto’s at similar levels of comfort in his own shorts.

“Tell me a story,” Bokuto says suddenly.

“What?” Tetsurou frowns. “Don’t put me on the spot like that, dude.”

“Come on, Kuroo! We can’t just sit out here and cook, we have to do something or we’ll fall asleep.”

“You tell a story, then!”

“You’re better at it,” is Bokuto’s confident response.

Tetsurou groans loudly. There’s no point in asking ‘based on what,’ since he’s probably thinking back to training camps where they gathered in their rooms to tell ghost stories. But those were rehearsed, and recycled from ones he’s heard from other people. Tetsurou doesn’t have original content. “Okay… Fine. One upon a time…there was…a big ol’ owl.”

“I like it.” Bokuto snickers.

Tetsurou smacks him across the back, not hard, but hard enough to regret the solid _fwack_ of his hand against pure muscle immediately. “Don’t interrupt. So…the owl had some stupid looking feathers on his head sticking up all over the place. But he couldn’t see himself. Because owls don’t have mirrors. So he thought he was hot shit because he was good at volleyball.”

“Hang on. Owls don’t have mirrors, but they can play volleyball?” He can feel Bokuto’s intense-if-not-half-lidded gaze on him, peering over his unfairly sculpted biceps.

“Shut up, you’re the one who wanted a story! Do you want me to keep going or not?”

“Yes, keep going.”

“All the other owls were too embarrassed by this big dumb owl’s bravado to bother telling him he looked like an idiot all the time—except for one. This owl didn’t take shit from anyone. And he was also a good friend of the big dumb owl, and played volleyball with him. The other owl had known the ridiculously-feathered owl for a while and noticed how everyone seemed to ignore his dumb feather-style, so for a while he played along. But this owl was generally very meticulous. So one day he told him.”

Bokuto waits for about as long as someone with an attention span like his can (about two seconds), and then interrupts again. “And what happened?”

“I don’t know, the dumb owl ignored him because he had been styling his feathers like that on purpose all along. It was anticlimactic.”

He cracks up and rolls over onto his stomach, laughing into the grass.

Tetsurou smirks. “You’re gonna swallow a bug.”

“That was a terrible story, dude,” Bokuto giggles out.

Tetsurou rolls onto his side and squints across the grass at him. “That’s the best I can do with such short notice. I’d need at least a week to get something better.”

Bokuto looks up at him and grins in a way that melts all of Tetsurou’s frustration about the story, while bringing up frustration of a different kind. “That story needs more cats. I want to hear about the _really cool owl_ and his _really lame_ cat friend who doesn’t even style his feathers or fur or whatever weird but just gets it messed up by going to sleep with it wet.”

“They sprayed each other with a hose and then both of their hairstyles went flat.”

“Fur. And feathers. Not hair.”

“Whatever.” Bokuto laughs again and that’s the only sound until Tetsurou hears crunching in the grass behind them. He flops over onto his back again, holding up his hand to block the sun. “Hi, Dad.”

“Tetsurou, if you’re bored, you could pull weeds.”

“No, Dad, we’re not bored.”

“I’m a little bored,” Bokuto adds unhelpfully.

“Yeah, but do you want to pull weeds?”

“Sure!”

Tetsurou’s father laughs and Tetsurou frowns, feeling betrayed. “Looks like you watered them already, so you might as well finish the job. You were supposed to do yardwork this week anyway. If your friend is willing to help you, it’ll just go faster.”

Tetsurou sits up and cocks his head to the side. “Why don’t you help too, then, Dad? It’ll go a _lot_ faster.” Kuroo Sr. is wearing dress pants and a button down shirt.

“No thanks, but I am going to borrow your fan while you guys are outside. Have fun.” He waves to them and leaves.

Tetsurou flops down onto the grass in defeat. “I’m blaming you for this.”

“Come on, Kuroo, it’s not that bad. It’s something to do, at least. And the yard will look great when we’re done.” He stands up, offering Tetsurou a hand to pull him up. He’s framed by the sunlight, and Tetsurou is definitely not thinking he looks like an angel or anything, but the backlighting highlights the curves and corners of his facial structure, punctuated with a well-meaning smile. He grabs Bokuto’s hand and pulls himself up, feeling his palm tingle.

 

The combination of the heat and the yardwork exhausts Tetsurou by the time it’s night. His mom makes a late dinner and the four of them eat together. His parents interrogate Bokuto about his college and future plans, and Bokuto handles himself well, explaining his desire to aim for a place with a balance of a good volleyball team and a strong business program. This is both good and bad for Tetsurou because it mostly keeps the conversation of what _he’s_ going to do, but inspires comments like ‘If only Tetsurou could be so responsible. He still hasn’t decided on a school.’ Of course, Tetsurou’s been waiting to see if Bokuto will pick one of the schools they both go into, and from there he’ll decide if he wants to casually follow along, or divert in an attempt to crush this crush. Except the latter means he probably won’t see Bokuto more than a couple times a year, and he’s not sure which situation seems more disagreeable to him.

Tetsurou’s parents invite Bokuto to stay the night, and Tetsurou mentally groans. Bokuto then suggests that since it’s warm enough, they should sleep outside, and Tetsurou’s father offers his camping tent for them to use. So just as the cherry on top of a perfectly platonic day, he’s going to be sharing close sleeping quarters with the object of his affection as they camp out under the stars.

They end up spreading out one sleeping bag along the floor of the tent for cushioning, agreeing that they won’t need one on top because it’s still pretty hot. Somehow, without the sun, it’s more bearable, but it’s still muggy out. It kind of just makes Tetsurou sleepy, and he kind of hopes they can just go to sleep without any further incidents.

They crawl into the smallish tent and flop down, both pleased by how it’s maybe a degree cooler out without the sun beating down on them. It’s still muggy and their skin is sticky with dried sweat, but it’s nearer to bearable now. They lie on their backs with their eyes closed, one or the other occasionally interrupting attempts at sleep with a random thought like ‘Should we try to play volleyball tomorrow?’ or ‘What if snakes had arms or legs but not the other?’ or ‘Do you think Akaashi could be a pop idol, or is he too grumpy?’

Eventually even those die off and they’re left with a longer silence in which Tetsurou debates blurting out his secret, then decides against it, again and again. Each cycle, with more time passing, it gross less and less likely as Tetsurou gets more and more tired, and then even that gives way to untroubled unconsciousness.

 

 

 

Tetsurou wakes up because he’s unbearably hot and he feels like he’s being crushed. As soon as he realizes it’s because Bokuto’s curled his arm around his waist in his sleep, his heart flutters, and then almost immediately crashes. He can’t indulge in this. It’s too much. And when did his life turn into some BL manga, anyway? This is just embarrassing.

“Bokuto.” No response. “Yo, Bo!” He dares to wiggle his arm a little. He’s tired and just wants to go back to sleep without having any more unintentionally gay shit happen to him.

“Mmm.” He hugs Tetsurou a little tighter, and Tetsurou isn’t actually sure if he’s awake.

“Come on, man, this isn’t funny. Get off.”

“You smell nice,” Bokuto mumbles back.

“I smell like a sweaty gross asshole, because that’s what I am. Stop it.” He tries to wriggle free and eventually Bokuto draws his arm back, blinking sleepily.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, sounding cautious and guarded.

It’s seriously been feelings like this almost every single day for two weeks. He’s managed to get Akaashi or Kenma or someone else to hang out too, but it doesn’t even help. There’s too much attraction there, and today has only made it worse. The stupid popsicles, the stupid hose, the stupid weed pulling and talking to his damn parents and sleeping next to him under the stars. Tetsurou is drowning in his own feelings. He doesn’t usually spread it around, and tries to keep his cool most of the time, but sometimes he thinks he’s just a hopeless romantic who believes a little too much in like and love.

“Nothing, I’m just in too fucking deep.” There it is. Oops. Too much frustration has built up in him, and now it’s bubbling over. Not good. He puts his hands over his face, covering his eyes, and presses his thumbs into his cheeks.

“What the heck does that mean?”

“I don’t know, just read between the lines. Don’t make me say it.” His words come out muffled. This is really dangerous. He’s losing his composure to his desire to just sleep peacefully, knowing that all involved parties know what’s up, even if it’s not returned. He rolls on his side away from Bokuto, cursing the teeny tininess of this stupid tent and the stupid, _stupid_ part of his brain that’s trying to tell him this is romantic.

“I don’t know what you mean. Just tell me what’s up.”

“I have…this stupid crush on you,” Tetsurou mutters, feeling adrenaline suddenly fill his body. Oh god. And then he thinks, _Shit, I’m a selfish asshole._ Because now Bokuto’s going to want to leave and it’s probably like two in the morning and the trains aren’t even running and that means they’ll probably have to wake his parents up so they can drive him home and then _they’ll_ be mad and want an explanation and things are going to be horrible and— “Please say something so I stop thinking,” he says. He forces himself to sit up and stop acting like a kicked puppy, not that he’s going to look at Bokuto.

“Dude,” Bokuto says eloquently.

There is another long pause. Tetsurou replays the single word over and over in his head, trying to match the intonation up with something either positive or negative. “Say something else. Or do something. Don’t just sit there being shocked cuz I’m freaking out.”

Bokuto’s hand lands on his bicep, resting there gently, not squeezing. “No, don’t freak out. Just let me think about it for a minute.”

That’s not…anything like what Kenma said. Or did. Of course, they’re very different people, and he liked them for different reasons, but _thinking_ leads to _deciding_ and that means he could still get rejected. But there’s nothing to do about it. Bokuto doesn’t leave the tent, and Tetsurou doesn’t dare to do more than peek between his fingers up at him. He’s looking towards the sky, even though there’s nothing that would allow him to see through the thick orange material of the tent. Meanwhile, Tetsurou burns, in addition to the pining and perishing he’s been doing for the last few weeks, and waits. Though he wonders what he’s waiting for. Surely Bokuto doesn’t mean to decide—

Bokuto turns to him suddenly, smiling, and says, “Okay.”

Tetsurou waits for elaboration. “What’s okay?”

The other boy boxes him gently on the shoulder. “I like you, too, duh.”

He lets out a little nervous laugh and slowly moves his hands. His face feels neither cool nor warm, but clammy from where his hands were sweating on it. Plus, it’s still very warm and muggy out, but at least it’s dark and his crush likes him back. “Oh.” Tetsurou can’t stop smiling.

Bokuto scoots down, jostling the tent when his feet brush against the side of it, and lies on his side. “Seriously, what’s not to like? You’re like, my best friend. We should totally…” He trails off.

“Make out,” Tetsurou tries, pushing his luck hard, now that he’s won once.

Bokuto laughs appreciatively. “I was gonna say go out tomorrow. Like, on a real date. I’m too tired right now to be good at kissing, and I want to impress you.”

“I’d be willing to be the judge of that,” Tetsurou complains, yawning. “I guess I’m tired too. But tomorrow I won’t accept any excuses.”

“I won’t give any, tomorrow.” Bokuto places his hand very meaningfully next to Tetsurou’s, with their pinkies nearly touching. Tetsurou wiggles his hand closer until they’re touching, and they both smile at each other, but neither makes a move to do any more than that and they both close their eyes. The Tokyo summer night is still hot as fuck, but it’s nice to have warm hearts inside.


End file.
